Today the Sun moved into Gemini and it became summer here on the Tropic of Cancer. I have mysteriously recovered from this semester and we are walking to Oriental rhythms along the quais, as the oil washes in.
I am about to recede into my stela at Copán, now in the country called Honduras, to meditate for a whole lunar month. In that time no sacrifices of any kind will be made, and no penitence will be undertaken.
Before leaving, since this is the space in which I psychoanalzye myself due to the incompetence of others to psychoanalyze skulls sculpted on latter-day stelae, I will make some remarks on a comment made elsewhere that allude to one of my still secret wounds.
To wit: my most difficult issue about teaching is that when mine was first seriously evaluated, the only characteristics that counted were traditional femininity and excessive douceur. Sisterliness and interest were not nearly enough. I had never heard that before and it was shocking. I say professora sim, tia não.
That the actual quality of one’s actual work did not matter was devastating. I have been terrified of teaching since. Summoning the courage to do it daily exhausts my reserves. That is why I estimated long ago that this wound was a liability. Normally I do not speak of this lest I lose control of the fear. But I have spoken of it, so I am less terrified now.
As I say, I shall depart soon for my stela, which predates Columbus. Our ancient writings, and those of the people who came here, and those composed after that, are all very great and still relatively unknown writings; they hold a certain charm.